Bleak, Not Bright Is My Night
The small, round clock over my king-sized, walnut bed ticks
striking a gloomy midnight as the red-headed cuckoo pops out
I sleep soundly, that silly sound scares the drowsy night gales :
look at them trembling as they ask themselves, " Who's that? "
Bleak, not bright is my night: I must stay awake until early morning,
only the sunrise's invading light offers a promise of a joyful feeling!
I refuse to look outside; no universe twinkled dimly on other nights....
when serenity, silence, and beauty made it sparkle with much wonder!
Yes, one could see where it ended, not straining the astonished eyes:
I won't walk through any shadow resembling a ghost that stirs fear!
Bleak, not bright is my night whenever a stumping sound approaches,
I've read some scary tales that make your hair stand even under sheets!
Are rising shadows to be feared when a peaking moon looks strange?
It can't break free of stormy clouds, unless they hear the loudest thunder;
will they wait in isolation, not tasting the sweetness of speedy revenge?
Longing turns into desire, and if it fails, it's ashes thrown from a blunder
without traces of an existence, whether it was lived or wasted for vanity.
Bleak, not bright is my night...follow me not on a road paved with misery!
Copyright ©
Andrew Crisci
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